Minstrel pinched just below where the leaf met its stem. She plucked it from the bush and dropped the handful she had gathered into the basket on her back. It was getting heavy now. The straps shifted as she deposited another handful, stretching to reveal the red embroidered line, telling her she had collected enough. She took the wide brimmed hat off her head and placed it over the mouth of the basket.
Minstrel plodded back down the row she had been picking and began to weave between the bushes, down the steep hillside. The glasshouse wasn't far by a Gods Gaze, but the angle of the hill was so sharp that walking straight down would inevitably cause her to fall and spill all the leaves she'd collected. The switchback path made for easy climbing and more room for the bushes.
For half an hour she walked back and forth down the hill, her ridged sandals keeping her upright in the loose dirt. The sky was a bright white, say for the ever-shrinking dark corner. They were almost halfway through the day now, and in a matter of months the night would creep back across the sky, and they would have to get by on the tea they'd set aside.
As she left the tea bushes behind her, Minstrel pushed open a low wooden gate. She walked through a fragrant garden of lavender and calendula, thyme and rosemary. She stopped at the door to the glasshouse, fumbled with a ring of rough keys, and opened the door.
The glasshouse was her favourite place in world. The light from the sky bounced off every surface and warmed the air. The glass ceiling was 50ft high and was pitched like a circus tent. Every wall was lined with creeping vines and trellised fruits. Across the entire floor were long tables holding thousands of plucked tea leaves, drying under the bright sky. Some trays were hoisted into the air to dry leaves faster, helping them retain a stronger flavour. She shrugged off her scarf and placed it on the coatrack by the door.
At the opposite end of the space, the glass ended and opened into a small stone room inlaid with a large hearth. A single table sat before it, infusing dried leaves with smoke. And in one corner sat a clutter of pottery supplies, where they made their ceramic jars. All shapes and sizes, glazed with their family colours, ready to take the tea to Hither for trading.
Minstrel heaved the basket off her back and onto the ground. She pulled a large tray from the stack in the corner and upended her basket onto it. With tiny hands, she spread the leaves out evenly, then lifted the tray up onto a nearby table, next to one full of drying rose petals.
She hung her basket on the rack beside the others and headed back out to the garden, locking the glasshouse door behind her. She and her family lived in the small cottage next door, built by her grandmother years ago. It was tiny in the shadow of the glasshouse, but it held them comfortably. She sat herself down in her armchair on the veranda and gazed out across the tea tree hills. Her mother and brother were on their way to Pansy to trade for food and wood and wouldn't be back for a week. Normally she would head to the kitchen to start on soup for dinner, but for a moment she sat and admired her home.
The hills stretched on for miles and light hit them like white sand dunes. If she walked for long enough, climbing over their tops, she could find fields of wild strawberries. When she first stumbled upon the patch, she spent hours eating the berries and ended up falling asleep in the grass. Her mother scolded her relentlessly when she eventually wandered home, but when she out turned her pockets to show the discovery, the family went quiet. And the next nightfall’s trades rewarded her handsomely.
The work here wasn't easy, and her back was constantly aching, but they always had tea to drink, and to many that was a luxury. She stared out at the horizon, where the hills met the white sky beyond, so close she could go there if she walked for long enough. The days were growing shorter, she'd heard. People were beginning to worry. When the war ended it was said the days lasted for decades at a time, now nights came so fast it was her birthday every dawn.
She looked out to the tops of the hills. And something moved. She loosened her grip on the arm of the chair and squinted. By the olive tree, some 500ft away, she saw a shadow shift. Quick and bulky. It kept low to the ground, drifting between the tea bushes. She stood slowly, her breath quickening. Rain began to patter on the thatched roof. She kept her eyes on the place she'd seen the movement, determined to catch it again. She sat for a minute. Five. Ten. Watching. But she didn't see it again. Slowly, she let out a breath, smelling the dirt through the rain. A trick of the light, she decided, slowly sinking back down to her chair. A trick of the light.
Ode of the Night Bard - Ep 1. A Trick of the Light
Show Notes
Written by Alyshia Barnes
Narrated by Alyshia Barnes
Sound Edited by Alyshia Barnes
World Building by Alyshia Barnes
Podcast Cover Art by Alyshia Barnes
Episode Photo by Vivek Kumar on Unsplash
Sound Effects and Music sourced from Epidemic Sound
Fantasy Short Story
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